tell the world that i'm coming home
by Trylan Aire
Summary: A collection of unconnected Makorra drabbles. Accepting promts. Up now: "...how did she get so good at... surviving?"


**A collection of Makorra drabbles…'cause I can. **

**They're all unconnected, pointless little drabbles. There will be incredibly fluffy fluff, tear inducing angst and more. I'm accepting prompts as well, do go ahead and suggest something and I'll do my best.**

**This is an AU.**

**Title: **beauty from pain

**Prompt: **She says her scars show her past. To me, all they show is the hundreds of battles she's been in. And even after I counted forty-two of the scars, I still couldn't help but think how did she get so good at... surviving?

…

He had heard about Avatar Korra joining forces with the United Nations, he just hadn't believed it. After all, she was the almighty Avatar, master of four elements, the very woman who had so mercilessly taken down Amon and any enemy that stood in her way. Her rumored presence caused a stir among the men, yet Mako was unfazed. She was a soldier, just as he was.

He continued with this mindset, up until the very moment he saw her. She was shorter than him, two heads at least, yet there was a certain way she walked, head held high, unnaturally blue eyes boring straight ahead, that made her seem so much bigger than she was. She had been speaking to Iroh when Mako's troop had filed in, and her head turned. He felt his heart leap slightly when he saw faded pink lines marring the Avatar's face. She wore a sleeveless blue top, and even there he could see dozens of scars, scratches and pink lines cutting into the flesh. Even despite the impurities, she was beautiful. This also caused a ruckus among the men.

His golden eyes lingered on her as she strode onto stage, passing Iroh and winking, causing the General to blink in surprise. Mako was also taken aback slightly. She wore a smile on her lips, curving the faded scars on her cheeks upwards. It took him a moment to remember this was the very woman who had single handedly taken down a fleet of Amon's mecatanks, his airships, and other Future Industries creations. Her eyes scanned the crowd, lips pursed. She nodded towards Iroh, who smiled in return. "Avatar Korra will be joining our fleet. I expect you to treat her as you do me." His words were useless. Mako knew the moment the General stepped away, the Avatar would be subject to catcalls and sexist ridicules.

She stepped down from the stage, and walked through the crowd. His heart was in his throat when she passed him, her eyes lifting up to meet his. He could have sworn he saw a small smile grace her features.

…**..**

That night, Avatar Korra joins the men for supper. This surprised them all, as she easily settled into the hoards of jeering, shouting men. Mako was ashamed of the soldiers when their eyes hungrily swept over the Avatar's obvious curved. Animals, the lot of them. Her ponytails disappeared into the crowd for moments. He suddenly saw sparks ignite, and then one of his men was slammed up against the wall, Korra's fists clenched around his collar. Her free hand ignited with fire. Her cyan eyes were narrowed. "Try that again_, chump_." She challenged her voice low.

Mako blinked in surprise as the girl effortlessly flung the man into a table. She stalked away, leaving her tray of food behind. Mako's golden eyes lingered over the forgotten supper, and he scooped the plates up, following the Avatar's path. He walked down the corridors of the ship, eyes searching for any signs of the Avatar. He is suddenly jerked, his arms pinned behind his back. He's forced into the metal wall, and in front of him, stands the Avatar, eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?" she demanded. He's so stunned at his sudden capture that the words leave him. "_Answer me_." She hisses. "I-I…uh was bringing you your tray. You left it." He stammered. "Oh." She relinquishes her hold on him, a look of disappointment on her features.

Her arms cross over her chest, and she's staring at him. "What's your name?" she asked him suddenly. "Mako." He answers immediately. He sees her gaze follow him. "Firebender?" she questioned. He nods.

"I've been dying for some action, you up for a spar?" she asked him, her tone nonchalant. He blinks in surprise. "Uh…alright." As if he could refuse the Avatar.

…**..**

It's no surprise she beats him repeatedly. It is however, shocking the way she swiftly and so suddenly takes her opponents down. As if a life meant nothing in her hands. His eyes linger on the scars on her cheek, as she was closer to him. She must have felt his eyes, as her fingertips lift to graze her scars. "Tarrlok." She explains. He had heard about her kidnapping, and about her escape. Quite honestly, he knew every match, showdown and fight the Avatar has ever had.

"Avatar Korra-"he begins. She grimaces, holding a hand up. "Just Korra." She interrupts. "Uh, Korra…" he stumbled over his words. "The way you fight, is…different than the way anyone else does. It's like you go straight for the kill, taking down the opponent in any way possible." He says. Her eyes lift to meet his and she nods. "I'm the _Avatar_; I can't show mercy to those who hurt the innocent. I guess…I'm just used to the bloodlust." She sighs, and she looks utterly disgusted with herself.

He says nothing as they continue to spar. She then asks him for a repeat showdown the next night. Little did he know what would come of their late night sparring matches.

…**..**

The first night he kisses her, he connects the feeling to bending lightning. Electricity courses through his veins, and he's only vaguely aware of the possible danger she poses. He's surprised at just how soft her lips are. His hands move to cup her cheeks, and he feels the ragged skin on her cheek. She pulls away abruptly, eyes lowered. He returns his lips to hers, gently brushing the ruined skin with the pad of his thumb.

She tugs at his uniform, pressing her lips to his with a sudden urgency. His hands move over her body, tracing the scars that spider web across her arms and back.

Later that night, when her bare body if flush against his, and his face is buried in her loose hair, he counts her scars.

She once told him her scars show her past. To him, all they show is the hundreds of battles she's been in. And even after he counted forty-two of the scars, he still couldn't help but think, how did she get so good at… surviving?

…

**That was pretty rushed, but I'm _lazy_. It's 4:30. Damn Insomnia. **

**Anyway, prompt away, guys!**


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